


Drive

by LoveActuallyFan



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst and Smut, Asshole Thranduil, Barduil - Freeform, Birthday, Chauffeur - Freeform, Coat - Freeform, Cover Art, Digital Art, Digital Painting, Drunk Thranduil, Fanart, Frottage, Gloves, Good Parent Bard, Hand Jobs, Illustrated, Inspired by Music, Kissing, London, M/M, Parent Thranduil, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rain, Smitten Bard, Sunglasses, Umbrellas, Uniform Kink, Uniforms, businessman!Thranduil, chauffeur!Bard, drive, lonely thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-07 01:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard gets a brand new job that he hopes will allow him to spend more time with his children. He is chauffeur to a haughty, demanding blonde businessman who barely registers his existence.</p><p>  <i>Or does he?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofplanet_earth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/gifts).



> ***sings happy birthday***
> 
> This is a little bit of Barduil that wandered, fully formed, into my head. It is for ofplanet_earth, who has her birthday today! Happy Birthday! I hope your day is absolutely amazing! You deserve it! <3
> 
> This piece is inspired by the song '[Drive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oI-BsWbIg4)' by Halsey. It's amazing! If you haven't yet heard it, I fully recommend it! 
> 
> Enjoy x

[ ](http://s284.photobucket.com/user/loveactuallyfan91/media/Drive%20Cover%20Art%20watermark_zpszxmzizs8.jpg.html)

 

Bard fiddled nervously with the edge of the plush leather steering wheel, the tips of his fingers worrying the intricate stitch work that wrapped around the perimeter. He pursed his lips, his tongue licking out to wet their chapped surface. He took to biting them when he was nervous; it had become a habit that he had no control over. His emerald-green eyes flicked to his reflection, his gaze catching its mirror image to check his appearance for the umpteenth time that day.

He looked ridiculous. The car he was driving was vintage – a restored and updated model – and apparently the uniform had to match the era of the vehicle. He wore a deep green chauffer’s uniform that buttoned at the front with large golden buttons. The cap he wore on his head was of the old style and a pair of out-dated driving goggles sat around the brim. What he would need them for, he couldn’t fathom, though they did make him appear rather dapper. The green of the uniform brought out the colour of his eyes and the hat lent him an official air. Though still, in his mind, he looked absolutely absurd.

When he had heard that he had landed the job he could not believe it. The interview hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked, and he had attempted a lame joke to endear himself to the interviewer. He had gotten the distinct impression that it had not come off as he had intended. He had absolutely not expected to be called for a follow up a week later; and he definitely had not expected to be out driving the very next day.

Bard adjusted the chauffer hat that sat on his head minutely. He made sure that the goggles sat directly in line with his nose and that the pointed tips were slightly tilted upwards. His boss had been very clear that the uniform was to be worn at all times; the correct uniform. Even though he had been stern and grumpy and generally foul-tempered, Bard had the niggling impression that he felt sorry for him. There was a pitying in his eyes as Bard had walked out of the door that morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care; he was finally away from his job at the blasted ferry. Private chauffer was a distinct upgrade to his lifestyle, and he could not believe his luck.

Bard was brought from his musings as the back door to the car was opened and the outside world filtered in. A light hum of traffic and the squeaky sounds of bicycles filled his ears, and he snapped his head around to see who had entered. Bard’s eyes widened when the svelte form of a blonde man slipped into the seat and pulled the door closed. He brought with him the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, a waft of fragrant cologne and the chill of the air outside. The man had his large cell phone pressed to his ear and a pair of sleek sunglasses covering most of his face.

“No, no, Galion. It is not accepta- No… No he cannot expect to get away with it…”

Bard raised his eyebrows a little, turning in his seat to allow himself to continue to stare at the blonde.

“I do not care whether he likes it or not, Galion, it is not…”

Bard was too busy studying the stranger to notice anything he was talking about. The man wore a black suit; an expensive suit. It more than likely cost double what he eared in a month. A soft, sable coat shielded his suit from the variable weather that hung outside the car, and he carried an elegant black umbrella.

“It is not your place to decide that, nor do I expect to have to remind you of your role.”

The man had long, white gold hair that reached down across his coat and tumbled over his broad, strong shoulders. His hair was scraped back at the front and was pulled behind his pointier-than-usual ears, leaving a few strands to flow down against the strong jut of his cheekbones.

“I would remind you that I am the CEO of this company, Galion, I make the final decision. I only ask your opinion as a courtesy out of deference to our long working relationship.”

His nose was a work of art. It supported his opaque sunglasses magnificently and swept down his face to end in a delicate flourish of pale skin. His lips were even more gorgeous; plump and pink and pointy at the arches. They twisted and sneered as he spoke, twitching in annoyance at the poor soul who languished at the other end of the line.

“That is not of any concern to me. If this prompts you to leave, then so be it.”

The man ripped his phone away from one pointy ear and ended the call. He turned to the man who was staring at him from the drivers seat. Though Bard could not see his eyes, his darkened sunglasses shielding them, he knew that the blonde man was looking straight at him.

“Drive,” he commanded, his voice dripping with disdain for the chauffer.

Bard sucked in a breath and turned, blinking rapidly as he tried to steady himself. He gripped the steering wheel and bringing the engine to life as quickly as he could. He was about to release the brake and pull away when he realised. He grimaced slightly and flicked his eyes up to the rear view mirror. He caught the black of the blonde’s sunglasses.

“I-I…Uh…” Bard tried, and the sunglasses tilted, “Uh, where to?”

A heavy sigh floated through the car and Bard’s grimace deepened. He knew it was too good to be true - here he was about to get fired on his first day.

“Canary Wharf,” the blonde snapped. Bard gulped and nodded, though he was sure the man was no longer paying any attention to him, his nose buried in his phone once more. Bard pulled out into the street cautiously, making sure not to take any chances while his passenger was in the car. He had not been given any information about whom he would be chauffeuring; only an address and a time for pick up. Now that the blonde man was sitting behind him, mere inches away, he couldn’t help but let his mind fantasise about who he was.

Bard could piece a few things together from the snippets of conversation he remembered, and the expensive suit and coat, yet his mind was free to embellish all the rest as they hit some slow moving traffic. Was he in finance? With Canary Wharf being their destination it seemed likely. Was he a trader? Had he made his money the risky way? Or maybe he came from money? The way he walked, the way he had slid gracefully into the back seat, spoke of privilege and an elitism that Bard had always been wary of.

As Bard waited for a particularly stubborn red light, a light dusting of rain started to fall, flecking the windshield with tiny dots of refracted colour. Bard flicked on the windscreen wipers and chanced a glance into the rear view mirror. The blonde was still engrossed in his phone. Bard studied him once more, now looking at more subtle features on the man’s face. His high, pale cheeks were blushed with a light pink, having been exposed to the cold atmosphere outside of the car. His hair fell like a cascade over his shoulders and tapered to a thin point, swirling around the ornate brooch that he wore clasped on to the left lapel of his coat. It was an odd detail, but Bard found that it suited him.

“May I help you with something?” the blonde said, and Bard’s eyes darted to once again meet questioning black sunglasses. Bard quickly looked to the road again, keeping his eyes trained on the traffic light until it turned green. He did not chance a sneaky glance at his passenger again until well in to the afternoon.

He spent his day waiting - and then ferrying about the beautiful blonde man – and then waiting. Thranduil had been to locations all over London; mostly around Canary Wharf, but a few had been south of the river. He appeared after each appointment looking cool as ever, coat draped over his shoulders, suit immaculate and his sunglasses perched firmly on his perfect nose. That was until one of their last stops late in the afternoon.

Thranduil slid in to the back seat, as he had done numerous times that day, and Bard could feel a change in his countenance. That had been when he’d chanced his glance. When he looked to his mirror image of the back seat, he saw the blonde sigh and his cheek muscles twitch. He rubbed his temples and glanced out of the window as Bard pulled off into the hectic rush hour traffic.

He had to work up the courage to speak in the beautiful man’s presence. He had become an enigma to Bard over the course of the day; barely human in his stoic manner and harsh words over the phone. It was as if he was a machine, programmed to attend his meetings without fail, keeping to a tight schedule without a hint of human emotion. His beauty stood in stark contrast to his frosty demeanour. The parts of his face that Bard could see were enticing, enchanting and so very attractive that Bard wanted to know more.

So when he spoke, Bard’s voice faltered; “I-Is everything alright?” It sounded inane, even to Bard’s ears. Surely this immaculate creature would dismiss his inquiries as though they meant absolutely nothing to him.

But the blonde did not answer. He sighed and bit his lip, looking out of the window once more at the traffic that surrounded them; “My next appointment is crucial, and I doubt we will make it in time with this traffic.” He said it offhandedly, as though he were musing to himself.

Bard blinked at the reflection of the man, a million thoughts rushing through his head. He found himself wanting to help him, wanting to do anything for him. A plan formed in Bard’s mind almost instantly. He gave the ridiculous notion a second thought, mulling over whether it was worth helping the man when it could very likely get him fired. He didn’t have to ruminate very long.

“Buckle up,” Bard said, shifting gears.

The strange blonde man turned his head; “Pardon me?”

“Buckle. Up.”

Bard spun the steering wheel, accelerating sharply into the tiniest gap that had opened up in the lane alongside him. The sudden turn and acceleration threw the man around in the back seat, though Bard was concentrating too completely on the road to notice. The blonde shuffled and quickly strapped himself in, his hair a little dishevelled and his sunglasses sitting at a tilt on his face.

“Hold on,” Bard said, excitement beginning to pump through his veins. While chauffeuring the rich paid well, it was boring, repetitive work. His real love lay in the racing of vehicles, and his skills were remarkable. He dodged and weaved his way through the packed lanes, pushing through the traffic until he made it to a small tributary off of the main road. The traffic lessened down the lane and he opened the car up, speeding down the road to the next intersection.

He took every back road and secret route he knew. He had lived in London his entire life and he knew the area like the back of his hand. It was a roundabout route, one he would never opt for were there no traffic, but it ended up taking them half the time to arrive at Thranduil’s destination. Bard checked his watch – five minutes to spare. He was good.

Bard had been so intent on getting Thranduil to his appointment on time he had not bothered to register their destination. When he looked over the steering wheel to glance at where they were, he was shocked to find that they were parked in the shabby lot of an old football stadium. He was about to ask the man what type of meeting occurred at a crummy football stadium, but he had already slipped from the car without a word.

Bard watched with utter fascination as the beautiful man strode into the stadium and took a seat in one of the lower rows near the pitch. He crossed his legs elegantly, placing his umbrella next to him with a practiced grace, and he looked out over the field to the game that was about to start.

Bard strained to see the players on the pitch. It looked as though they were all young boys, teenagers perhaps, and they ran out with great happiness to start their game. Bard’s eyes flicked back and forth between the blonde and the match, and he tried to figure out what could possibly interest him about a high school football match.

The blonde merely opened his umbrella when it began to drizzle, and he did not move from his perch overlooking the game. Bard watched in fascination as the blonde watched the match, his sunglass-covered eyes never wavering from the action. Bard waited until the match was over, curiously pondering over the turn of events. It was as the blonde stood to leave that an explanation presented itself.

A flash of blonde, so similar to the strange man’s hair, flashed into view across the pitch. A lanky blonde teenager barrelled towards the man, a huge grin on his face and a deep red flush to his pale cheeks. He stopped just short of the man, panting and speaking words Bard could not hear. But then he saw the most amazing sight he had seen all day. The strange blonde man smiled; beamed even. His white teeth shone, even from where Bard was sitting. The young blonde teenager grinned back and leapt forwards, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and squeezing him tightly. They stayed hugging for a few seconds, the man’s hands resting gently around the boy’s shoulders, before they broke apart and the teenager ran back to his friends.

The blonde man stared after him for a moment, a small smile still lingering. He made his way back over to car slowly, throwing little looks back over to where the boy was standing with his friends, before he slid in to the back seat. Bard waited expectantly, prepared for another address and another meeting.

Instead, the man just said; “Home,” in a quiet voice that hung heavy with a sadness that Bard did not think possible from the indifferent man.

The traffic had lessened in the time that the man had been watching football and Bard had him outside his house in good time. He rolled up slowly, knowing that it would very probably be the last time he saw the beautiful blonde. He wanted to make their parting moment last, though the man probably wouldn’t even notice. He wanted to spend just a few more seconds in the car with him; just a few more seconds that he could smell his cologne and feel his weighty presence.

The man slid from his seat the moment Bard stopped the car. He found that he missed him the second that he was gone, and he had to take a moment to breathe a deep breath and steady himself. His thoughts were a mess, and he tried to reorder them. He did not get very far, as there was sharp rap at his window. He jumped and turned, only to be met with long blonde hair and deep blue eyes staring back at him.

Bard faltered for a moment but then pressed down on the button attached to the door, lowering his window for the beautiful man. His heart leapt up into his throat and pounded against his ribs. He couldn’t breathe when the man leaned down, resting an elbow on the window frame. His hair fell forwards, framing his pale face and sapphire blue eyes. They were the gentlest eyes Bard had ever seen, and they were depthless and clear as a cloudless sky.

The man paused for a few moments, his eyes appraising Bard’s face before he said; “I appreciate you getting me to my last appointment on time. Thank you-” The words hung in the air, unfinished and wanting an answer.

“Bard,” Bard squeaked, cursing himself for sounding so foolish.

“Bard,” the name rolled off of the man’s tongue deliciously. The edges of his lips quirked up into a shadow of a smile and he extended a pale hand through the window, right over Bard’s chest. “Thranduil.”

Bard reached up, clasping his beautiful passenger’s hand in his and giving it his firmest handshake. Thranduil’s skin was silky smooth against his own roughed hands, and the clasp of their fingers caused Bard’s breath to hitch and his ears begin to pound with the staccato beating of his heart.

“I take my coffee black,” Thranduil said, staring back at Bard. “I’ll need to be in the city at eight, so I’ll expect you here at seven.”

Bard blinked once and his mouth dropped open. No sound passed his lips, and he merely stared; lost in those eyes and consumed by that velvety voice. Thranduil took Bard’s silence as acceptance, and he straightened up. He turned without another word and headed to his townhouse, ascending the few stairs before it with a slender grace.

Bard watched him unlock his door and step in to his darkened house, flicking on the light as he entered. Bard turned his head back to stare out straight in front of himself. It was only when he caught his reflection in the rear view mirror that he realised he was grinning from ear to ear. He quickly rearranged his face, forcing his mouth back down into a straight line. But his heart was still singing, his blood was still pounding, and it did not take long for a smirk to creep back on to his lips.

Not only had he not screwed up his first day on the job, he had done so well that his passenger had requested he return. His beautiful, ethereal, graceful god of a passenger wanted him again. It had been the most successful first day of work in his entire life, and he couldn’t wait to arrive home and share his wonderful news with his three children. Chauffeuring was meant to be a new start for them, an easier life with better benefits and more kid-friendly hours. They would be incredibly proud of their father for doing so well, and Bard could not wait to make his children proud. Especially if making them so meant he got to spend hours in a car with Thranduil.

He wasn’t under any illusions. They were not of the same class of people; he was little more than working class while Thranduil seemed to be of the highest society. The blonde would not look twice at him, he was sure, though that didn’t mean he could not appreciate his beauty. It would be enough just to share the same car with the man.

He could not wait for his second day.

**§§§**

Bard’s second day had preceded his third, which began a long line of days that promised that Bard had landed himself a steady, well-paying job. He could finally afford Tilda’s school fees, Sigrid’s ballet classes and Bain’s taekwondo lessons. They finally had a little money left over each month to enjoy themselves. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for a day out. That was all Bard had ever wanted, a little stability and freedom, and it was all because of Thranduil.

His boss had been astounded. Every pervious chauffer they had sent to Thranduil had never had a second day, let alone a one hundred and second… and that was the day Bard found himself packing up to head home on when it happened.

He knew everything about the blonde’s daily schedule. Although they barely spoke, although Thranduil barely noticed Bard’s existence at the front of the car, Bard had gleaned enough from phone calls and destinations to piece together a fragmented picture of him.

He was divorced, he had been for many years, and had one son - Legolas. He did not see the boy much, though he did watch him play football every Monday afternoon. Bard, hoping to keep in his passenger’s good graces, always made sure to get him to those ‘appointments’ on time. He could see the toll it took on Thranduil to be parted form his son at the end of the game, and he could see that Legolas was ecstatic that his father watched his matches – it was Bard’s personal mission to never disappoint the young blonde boy. He could see much of Bain in him, and he could not bear to disappoint him.

Thranduil lived alone, in a large house, and he was always home by six in the afternoon. This allowed Bard to always be home to give his children their tea, a huge upgrade from his previous occupation. Bard was happier than he had been in years and so were his children; a regular passenger and his regular hours were a godsend. Bard was known at the company as ‘Thranduil’s’ and he was never asked to drive another passenger. When the blonde businessman did not need him, or when he was away, Bard received paid leave. He could not believe his luck, and had never asked for an explanation. He suspected Thranduil had something to do with it, but he was too grateful to begin asking questions. He was happy - why push it?

But happiness had had to take a back seat on his one hundred and second day working for Thranduil. Bard had checked his keys in and had just stripped out of his uniform when his mobile began to buzz. He was sitting, bare chested and only covered in faded blue jeans as he picked up the device, scrutinising the ‘private number’ description that popped up. He had never received a private number call before in all of his life, and he was curious.

“Hello?” Bard said, a little timid. He heard a crackling and a scuffling at the other end of the line.

“B-Bard? Is that you?” Bard could not place the voice, and it sounded affected and slurred. Whoever it was obviously knew him.

“Yes, this is Bard Bowman. Who is this?” Bard asked, still mystified as to who was speaking to him. Well, slurring to him.

“It’s... It’s me.”

Bard blinked, still unable to place the deep, silky voice; “Me who?”

The line crackled, and Bard could hear a vicious wind ripping over the speaker. “Th-Thranduil,” There was a few seconds of silence, “O-Oropherion.” As if Bard knew anyone else named Thranduil. It was an outlandish moniker, though it suited his haughty aloofness well.

Bard’s lips fell open and his brow immediately furrowed. Thoughts blazed through his mind. How had Thranduil gotten hold of his mobile number? Had he done something wrong? Had he forgotten to pick him up? _Why_ was he calling him? Why was he calling _him_?

He found his voice eventually; “Thranduil? Was I supposed to pick you up?” Oh gods. If he had forgotten, he could kiss his cushy job goodbye.

“N-No… No, I… Bard. Is that you?”

Thranduil sounded confused, and very drunk. Bard’s pulse immediately began to pound in worry. Was he all right? Was he hurt?

“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay? Do you need me to pick you up?” He would have to arrange a sitter for his children; it was nearing seven o’clock.

“I don’t… know where I a-am,” Thranduil hiccupped the last word.

Bard was already unzipping his jeans and pulling on his ridiculous uniform; “Try and look for street names. If you can give me an intersection, I can find you.”

Bard heard scuffling, then voices, and then the crackling of the line. Wherever Thranduil was, it certainly wasn’t one of his usual haunts. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of a pub on the other end of the line, but that could mean thousands of possibilities in London. Bard held the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled on his bottle-green pants, waiting for the information that would lead him to Thranduil.

“L-Lancaster… and… a-and Sharp…” Thranduil eventually managed to gasp out into the phone. Bard’s mind worked overtime as he shrugged on his jacket and popped his cap onto his head. He knew London intimately, and immediately knew where Thranduil was and the quickest way to get to him at that time of day. He was proud of the way that he had memorized London’s geography and streets. He had always been good with spatial reasoning, and now it was finally going to pay off.

“Okay, I know where you are. Stay put and I’ll be with you in thirty minutes.”

Thranduil did not answer, the phone merely beeped as it disconnected. Bard was calling his neighbour, praying she was free to watch Tilda, as he was bustling through the door to check out his keys.

He made it to Thranduil in twenty-five minutes, driving like a maniac to rescue the blonde. He spotted him immediately. He was hunched over on a decrepit bench, his blonde hair in his face and his head lolling worryingly to the side. Thranduil was in a truly terrible neighbourhood, one that even Bard was wary of entering, and he wondered how he had come to be there. He had dropped him off at his house at six, as usual – how had he become so drunk and so lost in under an hour?

Bard pulled up next to him, yet he did not seem to notice the car at all. He merely stared down at his expensive shoes, which were scuffed and terribly unkempt for a man of his fastidiousness. Bard darted from the car as quickly as he could and approached Thranduil cautiously.

“Thranduil?” Should he be calling him Mr Oropherion? They had never talked very much, he did not know. He merely showed up with his coffee in the morning and drove him around. What should he be calling him? He had introduced himself as Thranduil on that first day though, so Bard stuck with it; “Thranduil? It’s me, Bard.”

The blonde lifted his head slightly, his reddened blue eyes glancing up at the worried face of he man in front of him.

“Bard?”

“Yeah,” Bard smiled softly, hunching over to get a better look at the crumpled man on the bench. Thranduil looked utterly stricken, and very drunk. “It’s me. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bard held out his gloved hand to Thranduil, unsure if he should help him up or not. He was apprehensive of touching him. He looked so breakable, so beautifully damaged, that he was worried he may hurt him or that his touch would be unwelcome.

But Thranduil nodded, and he reached out to clasp at his chauffer’s hand. Bard supported him as he stood, moving to stand next to him and wrap an arm around his slim waist. Though he looked lean and svelte in his crinkled grey suit, Bard could feel powerful muscles beneath his clothes.

Thranduil must look downright gorgeous without a shirt.

Bard blinked the stray thoughts from his mind and helped Thranduil into the back seat of the car. It was neither the time nor the place to indulge his fantasies. Once Thranduil was safely strapped in to the back seat, Bard hurried to start the car. He didn’t like the feel of the place, and he was grateful when they had driven a fair distance away and he no longer feared they would be accosted in some fashion.

Thranduil did not say much as they drove, and Bard kept throwing him worried glances in his rear view mirror. It was only when they were halfway back to Thranduil’s home that he spoke; though it was a soft mumble that Bard thought he had probably misheard.

“Thank you, for c-coming to get me.” Thranduil still sounded terrible, but his head had stopped hanging to the side. Instead, he rested it on the seat behind him and stared out at Bard’s eyes in the mirror.

“It’s no bother,” Bard said, even though it had been a bit tiresome to arrange a sitter.

Thranduil smiled then, a corner of his pink lips twisting upwards, and Bard’s heart clenched at the sight. He had never seen his usually immaculate passenger look so tortured before. Never had he ever seen him less than in control, and here he was – drunk and sad and so very lost. Bard found that he had an overwhelming need to protect him, to make it right. But he hardly knew the man, what could he possibly do?

“I couldn’t find a c-cab,” Thranduil tried to explain. He attempted to make Bard see that he had tried to get home by himself.

Bard frowned, his eyes blinking at Thranduil’s, “How did you get to that part of town?” Perhaps he shouldn’t be prying.

Thranduil shifted in his seat and closed his eyes, swallowed a great lump of sadness and forcing out; “I think I took the t-tube… I don’t remember.”

The tube? Thranduil? Bard had seen him place his handkerchief on the handle of the car door to open it when he wasn’t wearing his gloves and Bard had been too slow to open it for him. How could a man who hated germs and dirt so much that he could not touch a polished car door handle possibly take public transportation? It seemed unfathomable to Bard and he struggled to imagine Thranduil on the tube.

“The tube? You?” Bard was apprehensive about teasing him, but Thranduil cracked another small smile and turned his head to watch the sights of a darkened London pass by.

It bothered Bard that Thranduil had called him. He was his chauffer, hired to drive him around, but surely Thranduil would not want an employee to see him in such a state? Surely a friend or a family member would have been a better choice? Why him? He barely knew Bard. Why would he trust him?

“Is there someone…” Bard started, and Thranduil turned his head to look sadly at his eyes, “Is there someone I can call for you? Someone you may want to talk to?”

Thranduil’s blue eyes held no emotion as he spoke, soft and sincere; “There is no one.” It was brutally, gut-wrenchingly honest.

They did not speak again until Bard pulled up outside Thranduil’s townhouse. He shifted the car into neutral and pulled up the handbrake, glancing to the shadow of a man that sat in the back seat.

Thranduil fumbled with his seatbelt for a few torturous seconds before he asked, “Can you help me, Bard?”

Bard was out of the car and opening Thranduil’s door immediately. He leaned over the tall blonde to unclip his seatbelt; the soft cloud of alcohol fumes surrounding him once more. He had smelled the wine and the whiskey on Thranduil’s breath when he had helped him to the car, yet now the scent had faded slightly and Thranduil’s cologne tickled at Bard’s nose. He had grown used to the fragrance that clung to the upholstery of the car; Thranduil smelled of wood and freshly cut grass and a hint of musky saffron.

Bard drew back from Thranduil, straightening up and holding out a hand. Thranduil took it without hesitation, and Bard slid his arm around the beautiful blonde once more. He helped Thranduil to his front door, finally getting an up-close view of the house. He always waited by the car for his passenger and had never ventured further than the curb of the street.

Thranduil drew his keys from his coat pocket quite deftly, but fumbled miserably when he leaned forwards to place the key into the lock. Bard watched for an awkward few moments as Thranduil’s long blonde hair obscured his eyes and he tried to blow it away while missing the lock completely.

“Here,” Bard said gently, wrapping his hand around Thranduil’s to steady it and extracting the key from his grasp, “Let me.” Bard had the door open in seconds, and Thranduil merely trailed in, letting go of Bard’s support as he did.

Bard stood stiffly at the threshold, gazing in at the opulence of the house when Thranduil managed to find the light switch. Thranduil’s house was all hardwood floors, manly accents and impeccable art. Bard did not feel that he belonged in such a place.

“Do you need anything else?” He asked gently, depositing the keys onto the table closest to the door. Even though his job was done, he would still do anything Thranduil asked of him.

Thranduil was scratching around in a cupboard quite a way in to the house when he turned, a bottle of wine clasped in his hand. He held it out to Bard, “Will you open this for me?”

Bard blinked twice, and then completely forgot about his trepidation about entering the house. He stepped in, closing the door behind him, “I don’t think you should drink any more…”

Thranduil glowered at him, some of his haughtiness returning to him, “Are you going to o-open it or not?” He slurred, stumbling slightly and reaching out for support. Bard was at his side in an instant, gripping his free hand and gently extracting the bottle of wine from the other.

“How about I get you some water? And I’ll help you to your bedroom?” Bard offered. He was mostly doing it out of concern for the beautiful blonde, but a small part of him was exceptionally curious about Thranduil’s bedroom.

Thranduil growled and tried to swipe the wine from Bard’s hands, but he was too affected by the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed, and he was no match for the stone-cold sober chauffer.

“Come on, which way is it?” Bard said, depositing the wine on a nearby table and gripping Thranduil around the waist. He had gotten quite used to being so close to Thranduil, and he found he could not get enough of touching his toned muscles through his clothes.

The blonde sighed and grumbled incoherently, but pointed in the general direction of his bedroom. Bard helped him along, all the while supporting him, until they came to an intersection of corridors that led in many different directions.

“How do you not get lost in such a big house?” Bard said absently, mainly to himself more than Thranduil. The blonde pointed down a corridor, to a huge room, and Bard helped him into it.

Thranduil’s bedroom was absolutely massive. Bard lived in a tiny three bedroom flat with his children, and he had given up his master bedroom so that the girls could share it. Thranduil’s suite looked as though it could fit three of his flats into it, easily. Thranduil did not seem to notice Bard’s awe, and he shed his sable coat, allowing it to flop down onto the floor. Bard blinked and was drawn from his awe-struck reverie by Thranduil shedding his suit jacket and pulling his tie from around his neck.

Thranduil toed out of his shoes rather elegantly for one so drunk, and Bard gulped when he began to loosen his shirt and pull the hem out of his tight pants.

“I should… I should go,” Bard said, backing away from the gorgeous blonde man. Thranduil paused in his stripping, and he turned to Bard, his shirt hanging open and loose about his broad shoulders.

Bard’s eyes flicked down to Thranduil’s pale chest. He had been correct; Thranduil’s muscles were large and well defined, his abs just visible above his belt. He looked as though he had been chiselled out of finest marble by a great sculptor – he was mesmerising.

When Bard found the willpower to drag his eyes away from Thranduil’s chest, he found that the man was standing right before him, having padded over to him while he gaped inanely. Thranduil’s booze-soaked eyes were red and glassy, but there was a hit of something shining through. Was it curiosity? Was it thinly veiled disgust that someone like Bard was in his bedroom, gazing at him while he stripped off? Was he simply about to tell him to leave?

Bard gulped and straightened his hat nervously, cursing how stupid he must look in his absurd uniform and silly hat. He felt as though he had crossed an imaginary line. Being here, now… with Thranduil half naked… had somehow put his job in jeopardy. All Thranduil had wanted was help, not some ridiculous man with a crush ogling him. He had to apologise and leave, before he said something stupid and was once again out of work.

But Bard did not get the chance to speak. He opened his mouth, his lips parting in readiness to apologise, but Thranduil’s hot mouth silenced him. The blonde’s wine-flavoured tongue was in his mouth immediately, and Bard had to take a second for his mind to catch up with what was happening to him. He made sure… yes, his beautiful blonde passenger really was kissing him. Yes, he really was winding his long, elegant fingers into his hair and nudging the silly cap off of his head - and yes, Bard seemed to be allowed to kiss him back.

Thranduil tugged at the strands of Bard’s hair, gripping a little too tight as he ravaged his mouth with sloppy drunken kisses. But knew he should pull back. Not only was it ungallant to take advantage of someone who was so obviously terribly drunk, but he could also lose his job – his livelihood – and he had three children to feed.

But Bard could not help but reach up and touch the blonde hair he had admired for so long. He ran his fingers through its silkiness and pressed Thranduil closer, moaning against the blonde’s hot kisses. He could not help his tongue from curling around Thranduil’s, duelling for dominance. Gods, Thranduil tasted exquisite. All that wine and his natural flavour addled Bard’s senses until he was nothing but a shivering wreck, gasping and groaning into Thranduil’s mouth.

“Mmm… Bard…” Thranduil gasped, continuing to kiss him through the words. He nipped and licked at Bard’s lips, pulling his chauffer against his body as they made out.

Bard could feel Thranduil against him, every inch of his toned chest pressed against his green uniform. He could also feel the insistent jut of Thranduil’s cock as it slowly filled out, half hard against his stomach. Bard marvelled at the man’s ability to sustain such hardness even in his inebriated state.

“Thranduil,” Bard gasped, his lips red with use and his nose and cheeks high with a pink blush. “Thranduil, I don’t think we should…” Bard trailed off when the blonde rubbed insistently against his stomach. Thranduil was only half-hard, but even so he was large. His cock was warm and throbbing, even through his tight grey pants, and Bard longed to taste it. He longed to take Thranduil in his mouth and feel the heavy weight of him press down his throat.

“Bard, w-will you… will you fuck me?” Thranduil rasped, slurring a little and peppering Bard’s abused lips with deep, dirty kisses.

Bard had been holding back. He had been trying to control himself. But the utterance of Thranduil’s desire for him made him instantly hard.

“Please?” Thranduil moaned, clutching at Bard’s head and twisting their lips together sinfully, “ _Please_ … I need you to fuck me.”

Bard knew it was wrong, but it felt so absolutely right. He followed when Thranduil grasped his uniform and pulled him forwards as he stumbled backwards. Thranduil’s shaky legs hit the edge of his bed and he dragged Bard on top of him, falling back onto the soft silken covers still pressed together at the lips.  
Bard pushed himself up with his hands, hauling his body up over Thranduil’s and surrendering to his kisses. The man was delirious, his hands sliding up over Bard’s sides and shoulders and grappling with the shiny buttons on his uniform. He made the most delicious, decadent sounds as Bard attacked his delicate neck, scratching his scraggly beard against his pale skin.

“Yes,” Thranduil gasped, still slurring his words, and Bard’s conscience began to niggle at the edges of his psyche. Though kissing Thranduil was exquisite pleasure, though lying on top of him and worshiping his pale skin was somewhat of a fantasy come true, Bard knew that he could not continue. It was not right. Thranduil was not himself, and it was not right.

“Th-Thranduil…” Bard moaned, trying to drag his lips away. But Thranduil had other ideas, and he threaded his shaky fingers into Bard’s hair, tugging him forwards once more. This time, Bard was pulled up the man’s lithe, beautiful body, and he was able to feel Thranduil’s hardness nestle snugly next to his. He made an involuntary thrust, lust skipping up his spine and clouding his eyes over with desperate need. And then Thranduil slipped his hand into his pants, fumbling around to wrap his elegant fingers around Bard’s pulsing cock.

He wanted this. He had wanted it since the moment Thranduil had slid into the back seat of the car.

But he could not have it, not like this.

“No,” Bard said, this time ripping himself away from those sinful lips and scrabbling to his feet. “You’re drunk,” Bard gasped, panting heavily and blinking wildly.

Thranduil pushed himself, with much effort, onto his elbows and stared up at Bard, his blue eyes far away. His tight stomach contracted and shuddered as they stared at one another, and Bard could not help but chance a glace at his beautiful body once more. It was too perfect not to.

“I want to,” Bard said quickly, thinking Thranduil would perhaps be assuaged by the fact that he did indeed want to fuck him, “But I don’t think you do.”

The blonde gazed at Bard for a long few moments, his hazy eyes unfocused and bleary. His pants were tented lewdly, the zipper in the expensive grey material straining to restrain him, and Bard knew he had done the right thing – Thranduil was not in control.

Bard was about to apologise, about to beg for forgiveness and confess how much of a crush he had on Thranduil, but the blonde had flopped back onto his bed and closed his eyes before he had the chance. Bard quirked an eyebrow and took a tentative step forwards, watching as Thranduil’s lovely chest rose and fell steadily. Asleep.

Bard backtracked hurriedly, his hands shaking as he picked up Thranduil’s discarded clothes and folded them neatly, laying them on a chair near the entrance to Thranduil’s bedroom. He swiped his discarded hat up from the carpeted floor, placing it with little care onto his head, not bothering to check if it was skew. He threw one last glance to the sleeping man, committing every detail of Thranduil’s perfection to his memory, before he departed – his pants still uncomfortably tight and his head filled with a raging roaring that almost deafened him.

**§§§**

Bard had to be at the depot at six thirty to clock in. Six thirty allowed him the time to punch his card, have a sneaky coffee and perhaps a muffin, and make it to Thranduil’s by seven with fresh Starbucks in his hand. Bard arrived at the depot at five, unable to sleep and worried out of his mind. He had not even been granted a moment’s reprieve, and sleep had eluded him that entire night. Ever since he had departed from Thranduil’s house, he had been sick with worry.

He should have stayed. He should have given Thranduil what he had wanted. At least he would have been able to make love to the blonde beauty once in his life before being fired. Now, having rejected the proud businessman, he was sure that he would be fired anyway. What would he do? How would he afford Tilda’s school? Or Sigrid’s new ballet leotard? Or Bain’s maths tutor? He would have to see the disappointment in his children’s eyes once again as he told them he’d lost his job, and all because he was too much of a gentleman to have sex with a man he had been pining for. Thranduil had said he wanted it, he had begged him to fuck him. He was a bloody idiot.

But deep down, right at the centre of Bard’s battered heart, he knew he had done the right thing. At least when he was fired he could still hold his head high. He would penniless and destitute, with three starving children; but he could look himself in the eyes when he brushed his teeth in the morning. He was a bloody idiot.

Bard was waiting for Thranduil, in his usual parking spot with Starbucks in his trembling hand, at seven o’clock. He stood in front of the car, his eyes lowered and his pulse fluttering under the white collar of the uniform. He half expected Thranduil not to appear, to still be passed out on his large king-sized bed, but the blonde was as chic and composed as ever.

Thranduil wore another immaculate grey suit, with a crisp white shirt underneath and a jet black tie. A vibrant red scarf was tucked into the suit jacket, fluttering prettily behind him as he strode out purposefully to his waiting vehicle. His hands were gloved and he had his soft sable coat tucked under his arm as he walked, his eyes obscured by sunglasses as was typical. His hair was pristine, long and straight against his chest, and Bard could not see a hint of last night’s tortured soul.

It startled Bard how normal Thranduil seemed to be. He swiped his coffee from his chauffer, as usual, and slid gracefully into the back seat, as usual. Bard, assuming he had been granted a reprieve from being fired, did not utter a word. He merely hurried to the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, beginning his day as always. He did not know if the reprieve was only for the day, and Thranduil would be making arrangements for a new chauffeur, or if the blonde did not remember what had transpired the night before. Either way, Bard would not be stupid enough to push the subject.

The day was startlingly normal. Thranduil made his stops, had his meetings, and moved on to the next, all as usual. All as frighteningly usual. Bard had almost convinced himself that Thranduil did not remember their activities of the night before when they arrived back at the blonde’s house at the end of the day. It was 6 o’clock precisely when Thranduil exited the car and tapped on the driver’s window. Bard’s heart leapt into his throat, making him want to throw up.

He wound down the window anxiously, turning his questioning eyes up towards the sunglass-clad blonde.

“I have made arrangements for one of your colleagues to take over your duties,” He said, matter-of-factly and with no discernible emotion. “Thank you for your services.” Thranduil spun and began to walk away.

It was icy cold and detached. It made Bard feel dirty and used. Perhaps that was why he did what he did? Perhaps it was all his worst fears coming true that made him do it? Perhaps it was the thought of his children going hungry; their sad faces looking up at him in pain? He did not know what made him storm out from the car, slamming the driver’s door behind him, and chase after Thranduil.

“Hey!” Bard shouted, “Hey! It’s not my fault that you got blind drunk and put the moves on me!”

Thranduil stopped dead, his red scarf fluttering out behind him, swirling just short of Bard’s panting form. He turned slowly, turned to fix Bard with his flat back sunglasses.

“I did the right thing!” Bard gasped, a red flush creeping up his neck and his eyes filling with the beginnings of hot tears. “I would not take advantage of you, even though I would kill to kiss you just once more. I tried to be a gentleman, to make sure that you did not regret your actions in the morning, and now you are _punishing_ me?”

Thranduil stared stoically at a near-hysterical Bard, his mouth set in a straight line.

“I have three children at home, three little beings that depend on me, on my income, and now we are going to be destitute because you decided to crawl into a bottle?” Bard was panting, reeling at the unfairness of the situation. He knew that life was not fair, he was intimately acquainted with that particular fact, but that did nothing to quell his anger and frustration.

Bard stood, gasping in huge gulps of air, with the first of his restrained tears coursing down his face. How would he go home and explain to little Tilda that she could no longer go to nursery school? How would he do that? How could he make her understand? Was Thranduil completely devoid of any sort of heart?

Thranduil let Bard gasp for a while, and then he took a slow step forwards. Bard gulped and blinked, confused when the blonde man padded over to him and stopped just short of their noses touching. He raised his hand, removing his sunglasses with a heavy weariness visible in his movements. Bard’s brow knit together when Thranduil looked straight into his soul. The blonde’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, as if he had been crying the entire day, and his blue irises were a mere shadow of their usual loveliness. No wonder he had kept the damned sunglasses on all day.

“You have not lost you job, Bard, I have made sure that they have merely reassigned you,” Thranduil said softly, his voice cracking, “I just assumed that you would not care to be around me anymore, after I acted so deplorably.”

Bard’s eyes again filled with tears, but this time for a completely different reason. Oh, gods. Thranduil was trying to spare him the humiliation of working for him after he had had his hands down Bard’s pants.

“I apologise for my actions. I had some rather bad news last night, and I’m afraid that I drank much more than was good for me.” Thranduil sounded so broken, so lost and sad and desperate, that Bard had reached out for his face before his mind had really registered what he was doing.

Thranduil gasped and sagged into Bard’s touch, his eyes slipping shut as Bard caressed his cold, hollowed cheek. “If you would prefer to keep driving me, I will ask that you be reinstated,” Thranduil said, stepping closer to the chauffer and scrunching his heavy brow together in pain. “If you can forgive me for what I have done, I would like you to stay on.”

Bard’s heart shuddered and contracted in his chest, and he smiled softly up at the tall blonde. “I would definitely prefer that, and there is nothing to forgive.”

Thranduil’s whole countenance changed then, and it looked to Bard as though his mask slid down, revealing all his internal struggles. Happiness and pain and tortured anguish flittered over Thranduil’s fine features, and he leaned completely into Bard’s rough hand.

“What’s wrong?” Bard whispered, desperate to help Thranduil. “Tell me how I can help you?”

Thranduil sighed sadly, his eyes cracking open to get lost in Bard’s emerald-green gaze. “My ex-wife is moving to California, she’s taking our son with her.”

Bard grimaced, Thranduil’s pain lancing through his own heart as if one of his own children was being ripped away from him. He could not imagine the horror of such a thing, and would not wish it on his worst enemy.

“Thranduil-” Bard began, not really knowing how he would comfort him.

Thranduil looked down at Bard with huge, sad blue eyes, all his pain laid bare and exposed. Thranduil was trusting him - Bard realised - he was opening up to him.

Bard had no idea what to say to lessen the beautiful man’s pain, nor did he have the words to give any sort of comfort. So, instead of speaking, Bard stepped forwards and reached up. He went slowly, tentatively, still not sure if Thranduil would possibly want his scruffy, working-class mouth near his perfect lips. But Thranduil did not pull away. If anything, he leaned down, he leaned closer. He wanted it, and Bard wanted to give it.

Bard’s perpetually chapped lips met the familiarly soft skin of Thranduil’s mouth gradually, the pressure increasing gently until they were wrapped in a tender kiss. Thranduil’s breath whistled past Bard’s cheek, their noses nuzzling together as they tasted one another on a quiet suburban London street. Bard moaned a little, his hands aching to bury themselves in Thranduil’s hair and pull him close. But he resisted. Thranduil need soft, he need gentle at that moment. He needed comfort and love and someone to listen. He did not need Bard’s desperate fumbling and lustful moans.

When the broke apart, their lips stuck to one another, pulling apart with a soft pop. Thranduil’s eyes seemed to hold fractionally less pain when they parted, and Bard took that as a triumphant success on his part.

“Will you…” Thranduil began, his pink tongue licking over to wet his bottom lip as his eyes darted down to Bard’s mouth, “Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?”

Bard’s eyes lit up with hope. He supposed he could organise a sitter. His kids would not be happy, having been fobbed off on their neighbour two nights in a row, but Thranduil was too enticing to resist a second time. Especially when he was sober and asking for Bard to stay. He would make it up to Tilda and Sigrid and Bain on the weekend. Perhaps they could go ice-skating; they always adored that.

Bard smiled, gently brushing a few stray locks of Thranduil’s hair from his watery eyes, “Of course I will.”


	2. Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Thranduil and Bard's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***smiles***
> 
> Here is the promised second chapter :) I'm sorry it took so long! But it is nearly 10 000 words, so I hope that that makes up for it! I very much hope you enjoy! Thank you for all the lovely comments on the previous chapters! They were very special! <3
> 
> Let me know what you think <3  
> x

Bard’s sense of certainty and solidity dried up the moment he stepped into Thranduil’s magnificent home. He was once more in an environment that he did not feel comfortable in; he did not feel as though he belonged amongst the fine art, the polished antiques and the sparkling chandelier that hung in the entrance hall. He was, once again, out of his depth.

Thranduil seemed to sense the change in Bard’s countenance as he shut his front door softly, and he turned to study his chauffeur. With hands clasped together, and his blonde hair mussed around his lapels and scarf, Thranduil took a step forward, “Would you… like anything to drink?”

Bard blinked, swallowing the nervous wad of emotions that had swelled in his throat. He wanted to run away from everything Thranduil surrounded himself with, but the sight of the beautiful, broken blonde man kept him there.

“No,” Bard said softly, lifting a hand to slip off the silly cap he wore. He clutched it in his nervous fingers, twisting it and tugging on the goggles.

Thranduil’s brow furrowed, and he realised what Bard must think, “I meant tea… or coffee or water? Not alcohol.”

Bard stopped his fiddling and he gazed up into Thranduil’s reddened eyes. Not two minutes ago he had been kissing his beautiful lips. Now he was awkward and nervous; Thranduil must think him incredibly odd.

“Tea would be nice,” Bard smiled. His eyes slipped down to Thranduil’s mouth. His lips were still a little swollen from their kiss, and his chin was decidedly red where Bard’s scraggly beard had scratched him. Thranduil stepped closer to Bard, who lifted his eyes.

“The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable, Bard” Thranduil said, a look of pained loneliness etched into his face. “I don’t want you to stay if it is not what you truly desire. I would never-”

Thranduil was cut off when Bard closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to his with a soft, breathy sigh. Thranduil immediately dug his chilly fingers into Bard’s messy hair, winding them between the strands and pulling his mouth even closer to his.

“Bard,” Thranduil sighed, pulling away a fraction and rubbing his nose against Bard’s. He slid his hands down to twist into the material of his uniform, the green fabric smooth and pliant under his touch. Bard’s cap flopped to the ground at their feet, and his hands gripped into Thranduil’s long blonde hair.

“Hmm…” Bard hummed, his tongue licking out at Thranduil’s bottom lip. He tasted delicious and Bard went back for another sampling, only to be met with Thranduil’s own tongue.

Thranduil stumbled backwards as their mouths melded together, slipping over one another with their tongues exploring and duelling. Bard gasped as they fell back into the front door, Thranduil’s back slamming roughly against the unyielding wood. Bard pulled back, ready to apologise and ask if Thranduil was all right; he hadn’t even realised they were in danger of falling backwards. But Thranduil would allow him no such reprieve, and he moaned and pulled Bard against him once more.

Bard did not know when, but Thranduil had successfully unbuttoned three of the large, gold buttons on his uniform, and it now gaped open, allowing the blonde access to his undershirt and chest. It was an access that Thranduil took full advantage of, and he dug his fingers past the uniform, running them over the strong muscles he found there with a gasp that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

Bard, his mind finally clearing of his nervousness and letting him realise that he was allowed to touch Thranduil, slipped his hands down to the blonde’s slim hips. He clung to them, slid his hands around them, and drifted his fingers downwards to grip onto the taut round muscles of Thranduil’s ass. Thranduil groaned and slid a little way down the door, his hips thrusting against Bard as they ravaged each other up against the, thankfully solid, wood.

“Is… is this o-okay?” Thranduil gasped in between rough, ravenous kisses, his hands having wandered to Bard’s pants. He fumbled with the button and the zipper, his whole body trembling.

Bard smiled through their kisses. Thranduil was even more adorable than he could imagine when he was asking for permission.

“It’s more than okay,” Bard gasped, “I want this, and I want you.”

Thranduil grinned and delved a tentative hand past the waistband of Bard’s pants, his fingers grazing through the soft, downy hair that trailed to where Bard’s cock was straining for him. Bard had never been so turned on so quickly. He had always known he’d been attracted to men as well as women, though he hadn’t been with a man since getting married. He had never found the time for any such pleasures since he had been widowed, and Thranduil would be his first in years. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed the insistent press of a man’s cock against him. He had forgotten how hard muscles, day old stubble, and a strong pair of arms turned him on. And gods, Thranduil turned him on.

“Adar?” A desperate, high pitch voice floated through the front door, accompanied by a few short, sharp knocks.

Bard and Thranduil froze, pressed up against one another in a frenzied tableau. Thranduil had his fingers just brushing at the hard flesh of Bard’s cock and Bard had one hand buried in Thranduil’s blonde locks, his mouth attached to his panting lips.

Another few knocks vibrated against Thranduil’s back. The voice grew more desperate. “Adar? Are you home?”

Bard extracted himself from Thranduil’s lips, his free hand supporting him against the door, just to the right of Thranduil’s startled face. Bard’s other hand remained buried in Thranduil’s hair; he was unwilling to lose the intimate touch just yet.

“Adar? Please… please…”

“It’s my son,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes clearing of their passionate haze. Bard gulped and finally disentangled his hand from Thranduil’s hair, pushing himself off of him and straightening up. His jacket hung from his shoulders, his undershirt skewed and stretched. His pants barely clung to his hips, and the very prominent bulge in his underwear was unmistakable.

Thranduil’s eyes suddenly clouded over in desperation and he stood to his feet, running a hand through his mussed hair to smooth it. He stared at Bard through the gloom of the house as if he wanted to say something.

“Adar? Please…” The knocks had stopped and sniffles of tears could be heard in Legolas’ voice.

Bard did up his pants and jacket, and Thranduil grimaced as he asked, “Will you hide?”

Bard stopped, his eyes flicking up to meet Thranduil’s scared ones.

“What?”

“Hide. Please?” Thranduil hissed, shooing his hands at Bard and opening the hallway cupboard. Bard opened his mouth to protest, but was unceremoniously shoved in the closet anyway. He blinked in the darkness, completely floored at where he was.

And then the cupboard opened, and Bard’s heart leapt. Thranduil had thought better of it, he’d come to his senses - he could see how idiotic it was to hide in a closet. But Thranduil just tossed his stupid hat towards him and shut the door in his face for a second time.

Thranduil smoothed down his hair once more and took a deep breath. Legolas had just begun his knocking again, pleading for his father to answer, when Thranduil appeared in the doorway, a little out of breath and with a rosy tinge to his cheeks. Legolas’ vision was too obscured by tears for him to notice that his father’s clothes were a little askew and his hair was ever so slightly messed to the right.

“Ada!” Legolas squeaked, his face crumpling. He hesitated for a few seconds, teetering back and forth on his heels, before he lurched forwards, throwing his arms around his father’s waist and burying his face in his jacket and scarf. “Please, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be taken away from you…”

Bard could hear everything from his hiding spot, and his brow furrowed in sadness at the boy’s words.

“Iôn-nín, it’s okay,” Thranduil’s voice rumbled, rough around the edges with lingering passion. He wrapped his arms around Legolas’ trembling body and held him close as he soothed him, “It is all right. It’ll be okay.”

“Please, I don’t want to go. Don’t let me go.”

“I will see you all the time, iôn, I will fly out every month. I promise.” Bard could hear the pain cutting through Thranduil’s heart. He could try, but his schedule would never allow for such frequent trips around the world.

Bard heard the door shut softly, and Legolas sniffled as he pleaded.

“But I hardly see you, even when we live in the same city! I can stay with you, can’t I? I can live here… please…”

Thranduil sighed.

“You’re only fifteen, ‘Las. You have to live with your mother.”

Legolas pulled back, and he looked up at his father with huge, tear-filled eyes. Streaks of wetness poured down his reddened cheeks. “But I don’t want to be taken away from you.”

“I don’t want you to be taken away from me,” Thranduil whispered, pulling his son forward into a tight hug once more. Legolas said nothing else, he merely sobbed into Thranduil’s expensive jacket for a few minutes.

“Come,” Thranduil said after a while, brushing damp strands of hair from his young son’s face and cupping his cheeks, “Let me make you some hot chocolate. That always helps.”

Legolas sniffed and nodded, his lips quivering. Thranduil smiled down at him. It was a sad, resigned smile; resigned to their fate. There was nothing that he could do; he did not have custody of his son. “Good, I’ll just take my coat off. Go through to the kitchen and get the tiny marshmallows ready.”

Legolas could not help but crack a smile; tiny marshmallows in his hot chocolate were his very favourite thing. Thranduil watched sadly as Legolas trailed through to his kitchen, wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeves as he went. His son did not deserve to have his life disrupted in such a way. He belonged in London, with his family and friends and his father. He missed Legolas more than he could ever express, and now he was being pulled even further away from him.

Thranduil cleared his throat and shook his head, suddenly remembering about the chauffeur he had stuffed into his hallway closet. He opened the door tentatively, only to be met with a pair of unimpressed eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thranduil dropped his voice, “He doesn’t know… that I…”

Even though Bard’s heart was breaking for the beautiful blonde and his sweet young son, his eyes were steely and cold.

“That you what?” Bard asked, raising an eyebrow and setting his cap squarely on his head.

“Adar? I can’t find them?” Legolas called from the kitchen, and Thranduil’s eyes widened.

“I’m coming, ‘Las!” Thranduil shouted back, peeling his coat and scarf off and hanging them in the open closet.

“Can you see yourself out?” Thranduil hissed, already back-tracking down the corridor to his kitchen. Bard clenched his jaw and watched as he moved away from him. “I’m sorry,” Thranduil whispered again, his soft blue eyes pleading with Bard to understand. And then he turned and disappeared around the corner.

Bard stood there for a few moments, blinking at his surroundings and what had just transpired. He sighed, his forehead furrowing and his eyes clouding over with a mixture of confusion and pain, before he turned and let himself out.

At least he would not need a babysitter.

**§§§**

Icy, unforgiving wind bit into Bard’s cheeks as he waited, Thranduil’s Starbucks burning his hand through his glove. He bent his head down, bracing himself against the wind and the first few snowflakes that floated around him. His head was fuzzy, yet it wasn’t from the cold.

For the second night in a row, Bard had barely slept. He had spent most of the previous evening sewing a last minute costume for Tilda’s school play; thank the gods he hadn’t ordered a babysitter – they would have charged double to sew eight stubby little legs onto an octopus costume. He had been bone tired when he had eventually flopped into bed, but his mind would not let him sleep. It kept replaying what had happened with Thranduil, over and over, with no relief.

When he had eventually dozed off, his fractured dreams consisted of Thranduil’s lips and eyes haunting him – taunting him. Though it had been below freezing outside, Bard had been sweaty and stifled under his bedding, and had kicked it off during the night. When he had woken, bleary eyed and cursing his alarm, he was tangled in a thin sheet with a very inconvenient pounding between his legs. Curse Thranduil; curse him for being so utterly intoxicating. How could the man insult him by stuffing him in a closet, yet Bard still fantasised about him?

Bard steeled himself as the front door to Thranduil’s home opened. He had promised himself that he would hold his head high. He wanted to look into Thranduil’s eyes; he wanted to see whatever guilt may lie behind those blue, depthless orbs. But Bard was weak when confronted by his lovely passenger, and he averted his eyes. He looked to the pavement as Thranduil approached, a scarf wrapped around his long neck and his hair as immaculate as ever.

Thranduil relieved Bard of the Starbucks, and then he lingered. He usually swept past his chauffeur, swiping the cup with his phone already pressed against his ear – but not today. He stood, his jaw twitching, but Bard did not see it. He bolted around to the driver’s seat as soon as the coffee had left his hand. Thranduil was left to open his own door and gaze mournfully across the roof of the car at his retreating chauffeur.

And then Bard drove. He waited for Thranduil to slide gracefully into the back seat, he waited for the tell-tale click of the seatbelt being strapped across Thranduil’s hips and strong chest, and then he drove. Thranduil’s phone began to ring almost immediately, and Bard was grateful. He kept his eyes on the road, and he tried not to get lost in the lilting tones of Thranduil’s voice; he tried not to think how good that voice had sounded when it had gasped into his ear the night before.

Bard neared his first destination of the day in record time; he was anxious of being in Thranduil’s company, and had taken the short cuts he usually avoided. Before today, he had always wanted more time with the beautiful blonde. As Bard eased the car in front of an imposing skyscraper, Thranduil’s mobile was trilling incessantly. Bard slid the car into neutral and jerked up the handbrake more forcefully than he had intended. The ratchet motion creaked through the tense atmosphere in the car, and Bard moved quickly to click the lock open on Thranduil’s door.

Yet Thranduil did not move. He did not make to undo his seatbelt, and his phone rang unanswered in his pale hand. Bard did not turn, he wanted to – gods, he wanted to – but he stared straight forwards, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

“Bard?” Thranduil’s smooth voice cut through his phone’s ringing with ease. It was all Bard could hear. Gods, his name on those perfect lips did odd things to his stomach. But Bard resisted, his willpower wavering when he heard the click of the seatbelt and felt a swirling of air as Thranduil shifted forwards.

“Bard…” Thranduil’s voice was close, much closer than it had been, and his heady cologne wafted through Bard’s senses. It addled his mind and hacked away at his self-control, leaving him a little delirious and so very close to breaking.

Thranduil’s breath on the side of his neck made Bard’s stomach drop, and he clenched his hands around the squishy pad of the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white underneath his leather gloves.

“You should go, you’ll be late,” Bard forced out, flat and lifeless. Thranduil would not be late. He was early, he had time.

Thranduil’s phone blared out still, filling the silence between them. Bard thought that he may protest, he thought he may demand his attention, yet he did not. Thranduil let his phone ring a few more times, perhaps hoping that it would cease its noise, before he slipped from the car and plastered it to the side of his face.

Bard gasped out a long, shaky breath; relieved to be alone. Yet there was an oppressive weight on his chest, one he could not throw off. It pressed his heart down against his ribs and made him feel sick. He remembered the feeling well - it was a familiar disappointment – yet it still stung his eyes with tears and made his throat feel raw. He could not remember the amount of times that he had raised his hopes, how many times he had thought that he had found someone, only to discover that he was mistaken. It was a sort of masochistic torture, yet he had thought Thranduil different. When he had held him and kissed his smooth lips and had bared his soul… he had thought he had found something, a glimmer of something.

But he should have known better, he should have expected it. Now he was left with the hollow realisation that he was truly alone in the world, and his heart hardened a little more than it was before.

Thranduil was gone for over an hour, yet Bard only stared out of the window. Usually he played on his phone or read a book while he waited, but he couldn’t bring himself to do such things. He wanted to crawl into bed and lose himself for a few days. He would have to find new employment, he could not stomach being around Thranduil. Less than an hour in the car with the man had made him completely desolate.

Bard jumped when the back door was flung open, and Thranduil slid in with a gust of icy wind and some curt words over the phone. It sounded as though he was having an argument, a rather heated one, yet Bard merely composed himself and tried to block his voice out. He turned the key in the ignition, slid the car into first, and pulled out into traffic. He knew Thranduil’s schedule well enough not to be told where to go.

Thank the gods that Thranduil’s phone did not stop ringing for very long. The rest of Bard’s day consisted of trying to tune out Thranduil’s cutting words to whoever was on the other end of the line, driving through the monotonous London traffic, and staring dolefully out of his window as he waited.

After a day of self-pity and an afternoon of wallowing in his own torturous thoughts, Bard was grateful to pull up alongside Thranduil’s townhouse. He said a silent prayer that Thranduil would leave without any further attempts to talk to him. Perhaps he could switch with one of his mates at the depot for the next day’s shift. It was a Friday and there was always some high society Barbie embarking on a chauffeur driven shopping spree with her husband’s credit card. Bard would endure anything should it get him away from Thranduil.

Though he had wished it, Bard felt a tug of heartbreak when Thranduil said nothing and slid out from the car, shutting the door abruptly. Bard sat, motionless, for a few seconds, not daring to glance at Thranduil’s back as he walked away. It was very probably the last time he would ever see him, yet his pride demanded that his eyes remain fixed on the steering wheel.

So he imagined it instead. He imagined the tall grace and the effortless stride of the man who had so captured his attention. He imagined that blonde hair falling elegantly about his shoulders as he ascended the steps to his home. The scarf he wore would flutter in the chilly wind and his coat would billow out behind him, making him into some sort of phantom of Bard’s fantasies. And then he would extend one strong hand to enter; he would open the door, glide in, and be gone to Bard forever. At least he had been granted an opportunity to taste those lips. The memory of them would forever haunt him, he was sure.

But just as Bard was resigning himself to the fate that seemed to be unfolding, the front passenger door was wrenched open, and the car was once again filled with the scent of expensive cologne and the biting London air.

Bard whipped his head around; his mouth falling open to gape at Thranduil as he pulled the door closed and swivelled in the seat to face him. His eyes were free from sunglasses, and their blue irises held trepidation and… was that longing?

Thranduil took a deep breath, and blinked once, before his sizable eyebrows knit together and he tilted his head to the side. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, hurriedly and out of breath, as if saying it quickly would make it easier, “I’m so sorry… I panicked. Please, forgive me.”

Bard had not shut his mouth. He sat, dumbfounded, at the man in the seat next to him. How did he make the transition from cold, unfeeling CEO to trembling, desperate human so seamlessly? Gods, he wanted to kiss him so badly.

“No one knows,” Thranduil blurted, his eyes never leaving Bard’s, “No one knows that I… that I…”

Bard’s shocked look morphed into one of understanding. He had been at that stage before, though then he was seventeen, confused and scared. Now, life seemed too short to hide from who he was.

Thranduil never found the words he was looking for, and instead settled for “I’m sorry.” again.

Bard shut his eyes for a moment. Thranduil was dangerous, in more ways than one, and he knew that he should not give in. It was complicated – _so very complicated_ – and Bard had children to think of. Not only were they from different backgrounds and social classes, but Thranduil seemed to be firmly in the closet. What future did he have with someone like that? Was he setting himself up for heartbreak? Could he ever recover if he let himself fall and this man did not catch him?

Bard opened his eyes to find Thranduil staring at him with a desperation that he had only ever seen reflected back at him in the mirror.

“I’m not a plaything,” Bard found himself saying, “I’m not just some scruffy phase… I’m not an experiment.”

Thranduil gazed at him with wide eyes; eyes that held so much confusion.

“Experiment?” he echoed, his eyebrows now huddling together out of confusion rather than desperation.

“I’m not some working-class toy that you can have fun with and then shove in a closet when I become inconvenient,” Bard clarified, and Thranduil looked as though the thought of him as such a thing had only just now crossed his mind.

Thranduil shifted forwards, one hand sliding over the centre console to reach out to Bard. He stopped just short of touching his uniform, nervous of the contact and if it was wanted.

“I have never thought of you as such a thing,” Thranduil whispered, barely above a whisper, and Bard wondered if he had heard correctly. “I made a terrible mistake last night, I should have introduced you to my son, but I panicked. I have no excuse, I only ask for your forgiveness.”

Bard cursed Thranduil in his mind. He cursed how eloquent and lovely he was, he cursed how he could make Bard forgive him with only a few soft words. Thranduil was dangerous, but Bard realised in that moment that he was absolutely in too deep. He was powerless, he was infatuated, and he would forgive the gorgeous man in front of him just about anything.

Both men jumped as the harsh ringing of Thranduil’s mobile cut the air between them. Bard cleared his throat and lowered his eyes, turning his head away from Thranduil to blink at the darkened street, allowing Thranduil to answer.

The ringing continued, much longer than it was usually permitted to, and Bard turned back to see why he had not answered. Soft lips and a breathy sigh met him, and he twitched and shivered as a gloved hand came up to stroke his cheek. Bard let the sensation take him, he let himself be kissed - and gods was it a kiss. Though the phone was still trilling away, Bard no longer heard its cacophony. He melted against Thranduil’s lips; he sagged into the tender embrace and lost himself in the way his lips were caressed.

Thranduil seemed to be apologising with his lips and tongue and teeth, and he poured every ounce of emotion he had into making Bard feel his remorse. When they pulled apart, when Thranduil finally granted Bard his release, they were both panting and unwilling to be parted. Thranduil stayed close; he rubbed his nose against Bard’s, yet he kept his eyes closed. He was afraid of what he might see should he look at him.

“I forgive you.”

Thranduil’s gaze met Bard’s in an instant, and a tentative smile pulled at the corner of his swollen lips.

“But no more closets,” Bard said, his voice lighter and filled with a teasing edge, “Unless you’re in there with me.”

Thranduil stared long and hard at the man in his arms. He knew that Bard’s words were intended to be taken at more than just face value. He knew what he meant, and he finally felt that he might have the strength to make himself happy. It seemed that he had been waiting all his life for a reason to be happy.

It seemed as though he’d been waiting for Bard.

“No more closets,” Thranduil agreed, leaning forward to steal another taste of his chauffeur’s lips. Bard sighed, his breath swirling across Thranduil’s cheek as they kissed again. It was sweet and delicious, yet Thranduil ended it all too quickly, causing Bard to follow him, searching for more.

“Let me cook for you,” Thranduil said, quite abruptly, and it came out of left field for Bard’s lust addled mind. “Come in, let me cook for you, as a… as a date?”

Bard blinked, and then smiled and chuckled a little, his voice rough from their kisses.

“Let me prove that I don’t see you as a just a… how did you put it? A working-class plaything?”

Bard lowered his eyes and blushed. He had to admit that being the plaything of the blonde did not sound so terrible, and he squirmed in his seat when a myriad of ideas flooded his mind of just how he could be used. Thranduil seemed to have the same thoughts, though he did not blush as deeply as Bard.

“You’ll have dinner with me?”

Bard’s stomach flipped over, and he opened his mouth to agree. But then reality snuck in, and Bard’s face fell.

“I can’t,” Bard sighed, “Tilda has a play tonight at school. It’s silly and only half an hour and I had to sew eight goddamn tentacles onto her tiny, purple octopus costume…” Bard looked down to his watch, “And gods, I’m running so late.”

Bard glanced up to Thranduil with a pained expression, yet the blonde looked back at him with understanding and an adorable smile on his face.

“Tilda? Is she your youngest?”

Bard nodded. Gods, how he wanted to stay and have his dinner cooked by Thranduil.

“It’s alright, I understand,” Thranduil reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against Bard’s gloved hand. “Tomorrow?”

Bard was pleased to find that no activities scheduled for Friday evening sprung to mind. He readily agreed, and a soft smile lit up Thranduil’s pale face. He looked happier than Bard had ever seen him.

“Take the car,” Thranduil said, “I’ll call in and say I need you for a night shift. Take it so that you’re not late.”

Bard made to protest, he could get into some serious trouble for doing such a thing, but Thranduil’s lips silenced him. It was a quick peck and it left Bard wanting more. But Thranduil was already extracting himself from the car when Bard regained his senses.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Thranduil said, his eyes lighter than they had been when he’d entered. “Enjoy the play.”

Bard stared at him for a few moments, blinking, before he nodded. Their smiles matched one another’s as Thranduil watched Bard pull out into the road.

**§§§**

If Bard had thought driving Thranduil around when they were not on speaking terms was bad, then chauffeuring him before their date was absolute torture. When Thranduil had taken his coffee that morning, smiling softly and dipping his blonde head while he blushed, Bard knew he was in trouble.

He had not been able to keep his eyes from flicking up into the rear view mirror every few minutes, glancing to the man in the back seat. More often than not, Bard caught the icy blue of Thranduil’s eyes looking straight back at him, and every time his stomach flipped and contracted in excitement. And then he would see Thranduil smirk and shift his eyes to his phone, and he would wonder what the blonde was thinking.

More than once that day, Bard was pulled from his musings by the hooting of the car behind him, annoyed that he was motionless in front of a green light. Thranduil chuckled from the back seat each time, and Bard resolved to not be so distracted. It was a hopeless task to try and concentrate when Bard knew what awaited him that night.

It was at a particularly slow light that Thranduil broke their easy silence with a question.

“How do you feel about steak?”

Bard blinked at the eyes that stared back at him in the mirror.

“Steak?”

“Yes, steak, for tonight?”

Bard’s cheeks burned hot. Talking so casually about having dinner with the man he had been pining for for so long was surreal.

“I like steak,” Bard said, and then cursed himself. What was it about this man that made him act like a complete fool? ‘ _I like steak_ ’ Bard’s voice played over in his mind. He was an utter moron.

Thranduil smiled a little and cocked an eyebrow; obviously Bard’s nervousness showed.

“What about wine? What do you prefer?” Thranduil tapped away on his mobile, apparently organising their dinner.

Bard swallowed hard. Gods, he was out of his depth. His preference for wine extended to whatever was offered to him. How long would Thranduil be interested in him when he found that they had so very little in common?

When Bard did not answer his question, Thranduil flicked his gaze up. Bard’s eyes were filled with something that he could not quite fathom, but he sensed a nervousness that was not strictly brought on by the excitement of a first date.

“Or we could do beer? Or cider? If that is what you prefer?” Thranduil offered.

Some of the fearfulness in Bard’s eyes cleared, and he nodded. Any further talk was interrupted by Thranduil’s phone ringing and the car behind them hooting. Bard tried to clear his mind, he tried to drive and forget about the thoughts running through his mind and the promise of that night. Gods, was it difficult. He found himself missing Thranduil when he departed the car for meetings. The waiting was more unbearable than usual – six o’clock could not come soon enough.

Bard had agonised over which clothes he would wear that night. He did not own anything new; any money he made went to keeping his children clothed and fed, and he did not ever indulge in anything for himself past what was essential. When he had opened his wardrobe the previous night, he was shocked at how scruffy everything looked. In the end, after much furrowing of eyebrows and twisting of hands, Bard had settled on his smartest trousers, a plain white undershirt and a relatively neat cream jumper. Everything either had a frayed edge or a small hole, but Bard had no other option.

He had packed a change of clothes, just in case. He had hired a babysitter for the entire night, something he had never done before, and had made sure that all his children had playdates or activities scheduled for Saturday morning, just in case. Just in case Thranduil invited him to stay over, just in case they slept in, just in case… _Gods_ , Bard hoped that there would be a ‘just in case’.

Tilda was too young to be suspicious of her father’s night long furlough, Bain was more interested in video games to even register that Bard was to be absent that night, but Sigrid… Sigrid had raised her eyebrows and placed her hands squarely on her hips when Bard had explained. She didn’t quite believe his story about having to work the night shift, and Bard could plainly see her thoughts processing the information. But she said nothing; she merely nodded and threw a suspicious glance to the bag that he had packed. It was too early to let his children know that he was seeing Thranduil, it was too complicated, and Bard was grateful that his eldest trusted him enough not to ask questions.

The last meeting of Thranduil’s day dragged on much too slowly for Bard, and he was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited. He would have to drop Thranduil off at home first, head back to the depot to change, and then take the tube back for their date. It was not ideal, yet taking the car for two night shifts in a row would have been much too suspicious. Bard ran his plans through his mind as he waited - it would take at least an hour for his round trip, and he had to shower and change and…

Thranduil entered the car suddenly, his phone against his face and a stormy expression twisting his face. He looked more severe than usual, and the anger in his voice was quite unusual for a business call. He was always cold and snippy and forceful in his dealings, but Bard had never heard such frustration and venom as he did when Thranduil slammed the door and spat out a, “Yes, yes… I understand that but… but it is not my… yes… yes. Alright. I will be there in twenty minutes.”

Bard’s stomach dropped and disappointment began to fill his heart. He did not look to the back seat when Thranduil finished his call.

A heavy sigh emanated from Thranduil’s mouth, and he rested his forehead on the tips of his fingers as he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, it was obvious that he was trying to restrain the hatred that had plagued him only moments before.

“I need to make one more stop, is that alright? It will shift our plans up a little.”

Bard gulped, “Is everything okay?”

Thranduil grit his teeth. “It’s Legolas; he’s caused some trouble at school. He says he wants to stay in London and live with me. Naturally my ex-wife assumes I initiated such behaviour.”

Bard twisted in his seat, clasping one hand around the headrest to turn to look at Thranduil. “If you want to cancel-”

“No!” Thranduil interrupted him before he could say anything more. “No… I am looking forward to tonight, Bard. I only need a half hour to sort this out, and then I’m all yours.”

It did not take a half hour. Bard was still sitting outside Thranduil’s ex-wife’s house more than an hour later. It was well past six already, and the streets of London had grown dark and dreary. Bard was steadily growing more anxious, as he could see the movement of bodies behind the brightly lit windows. He felt as though he was trespassing on a family matter, as though he was an intruder in Thranduil’s life, and he wasn’t meant to be privy to such things.

He was just resigning himself to the fact that their planned date would never go ahead, when Thranduil emerged from the building, his scarf wrapped firmly around his neck and a thunderous expression on his face. He walked quickly, his head down against the swirling wind and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Bard prepared himself for the brush off that would inevitably come. He couldn’t blame Thranduil; his son would always come first. Perhaps this would be the last nail in the coffin for their brief affair? Maybe they would not be able to recover after such incredibly unfortunate interactions.

To his surprise, Thranduil slipped into the front seat of the car, forgoing his usual position at the back, and closed the door with more of a resigned attitude than one of anger. Bard blinked at him, appreciating the red flush that sprinkled his pale cheeks from the cold weather despite their situation. Thranduil managed to look effortlessly gorgeous no matter what he did.

There was a beat of silence before Thranduil spoke, “My son and his merry band of friends cling wrapped every member of staff’s car, rearranged the letters of the school’s name to read something _incredibly_ crude, and somehow procured four pigs, dressed in the school colours, to let loose in the faculty offices. Apparently they’re still trying to clean up pig faeces.”

Thranduil turned his head, slowly, with his eyebrows scrunched together, and looked at Bard with wide eyes. The two men held each other’s gaze for a beat, before a chuckle flew from Bard’s mouth. Thranduil sighed and began to laugh, running a hand through his hair as he did. Bard was doubled over and laughing in seconds, one hand grasping the steering wheel and the other clutched around his stomach. He suspected that Legolas and Bain would be great friends were they ever to meet.

“Gods,” Thranduil sighed as their laughter eventually died down, “He told his mother that he would continue the behaviour if he was not allowed to stay in London.”

Bard wiped tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes, “How did she take that?”

“She’s livid,” Thranduil sighed, but a tiny smile crept onto his face, “But she’s unwilling to deal with such things while she sets up her business in California. She’s agreed that Legolas can stay here, with me, for now.”

Bard’s eyebrows shot up, and Thranduil seemed to beam with happiness.

“That’s…” Bard tried, and Thranduil grinned at him. “That’s wonderful.”

“My son is nothing if not persistent,” Thranduil grinned, “And I fear that he takes after me more than he realises.”

“You let four pigs loose in your school?”

Thranduil shrugged, “Three sheep. It seems we share a proclivity for farm animal themed pranks.”

Bard scoffed, “I cannot imagine you wrangling a sheep into a school!”

Thranduil raised one beautiful eyebrow, “I was somewhat of a delinquent in my youth. I was in some sort of trouble most days.”

Bard liked the idea that the proper, fastidious man was once prone to pranks and antisocial behaviour. It made him wonder what else Thranduil may be hiding under that smooth, clinical veneer of his.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting so long,” Thranduil said, “I can get dinner ready in about an hour, if you still want to join me?”

Bard was astonished that Thranduil thought that he would want to cancel.

“Of course I do,” he said softly, biting his lip. He had been sure that their plans would be scuppered by the incident. But perhaps fate had granted them a reprieve? He could only hope.

“Good,” Thranduil smiled, “Home then?”

Bard did not try and hide the massive grin that stretched across his face as he pulled out into the road, Thranduil still in the front seat.

The plans they had made went smoothly after that. Though Bard was loathe to leave Thranduil at his home, he dutifully returned the car to the depot and showered and changed as quickly as he could. The tatty clothes he had chosen looked rather good, on second inspection, and he scraped his hair back into a low bun to try and limit the scruffiness. He spritzed himself with a light dousing of the only cologne he owned, wrapped a scarf around his neck and a jacket about his shoulders, and made all haste to his date.

He was grateful that the tube was on time and that there were relatively few people crowing into the cars. He made it back to Thranduil’s just as his watch showed eight o’clock. Their detour had shortened their night, but Bard was grateful that they still had time together.

Thranduil appeared at the door seconds after Bard pressed the doorbell. He too had changed, and wore a pair of casual jeans and a soft white jumper. His hair fell about his shoulders prettily and he was a little ruddy in the cheeks from the heat in the house. He was barefoot, and he smiled lopsidedly at him. Bard gulped, and a new batch of butterflies began to flutter in his stomach as he was invited inside.

“I’ve never seen you out of your uniform,” Thranduil remarked as Bard shed his outer layers and placed them in the hallway closet. He was glad that it was only his coat and scarf that were being stored there that night.

“I’ve never seen you out of a suit,” Bard replied, his eyes lingering over the way the jeans Thranduil wore clung to his hips. It wasn’t technically true; he’d seen Thranduil half-naked the night that he had rescued him. The thought seemed to cross Thranduil’s mind also, though he seemed to think better of bringing up their aborted attempt at sex. He was still ashamed of his drunken actions, and annoyed that he could remember all of what he had done that night.

There was a brief, awkward pause between the two men, before Thranduil motioned for Bard to follow him through to the kitchen. “I had a little of everything delivered,” Thranduil explained, “Beer, cider, and probably too much wine. What would you like?”

Bard’s natural instinct was to go for beer. A pint was his usual order, and it would make him feel less out of his element. But, touched as he was that Thranduil had gone through so much trouble to cater to his preferences, he decided to return the favour.

“I don’t know much about wine, but I’d like to learn. What are you drinking?”

Thranduil smiled, “I was hoping you’d know what beer I should be drinking?” He opened the fridge and motioned to the array that he had ordered.

Bard grinned, and reached for his favourite – a pale ale that was smooth and went down well after a long day. Thranduil watched with interest as Bard cracked the can open and handed it to him. “It’s not too strong, and has enough of a kick to leave you with a nice buzz.”

Thranduil took the ale tentatively, examining it intently, before he took a small sip. To his everlasting surprise, it was rather enjoyable, and he found himself taking another gulp while Bard watched with a large, satisfied smile on his face.

“Alright, what wine would I enjoy?” Bard asked, his eyes flitting over to the plethora of red wine that sat on one of the many counters lining Thranduil’s massive marble kitchen.

Thranduil made a move to open a deep, tangy merlot. It was one of his favourites, and he knew that Bard would appreciate its rich tones. He was not mistaken, and Bard was sipping appreciatively at the large glass that was presented to him; Thranduil did have excellent taste in wine. Thranduil wasted no time in moving over to the stove and flicking it on, they had both had a long, tortuous day, and he was sure that Bard was as hungry as he was.

Bard leaned against the sturdy kitchen island, which sat in the centre of the gorgeous kitchen, and sipped at his wine, watching Thranduil go about preparing their steaks for searing. There was already a quaint little Chinese steamer steaming away, presumably containing vegetables, and there was a covered saucepan out of which wafted the most delicious nutmeg and mushroom aroma.

“How do you like your steak?” Thranduil asked while massaging the finest olive oil into two huge hunks of meat. Bard tried not to be distracted by the way his long, elegant fingers worked, it would not do to get so excited before their meal.

“Rare,” Bard said tightly, redness creeping past his jumper and up his neck. It may have been the wine that caused such a reaction, though Bard suspected it was the way Thranduil expertly prepared their food and then tossed the steaks onto the grill. His stern, guarded façade truly did hide a wealth of talent and beautiful quirks. Thranduil set a timer and turned to Bard, brining his ale up to his lips to take another sip.

“This is rather good, I must make a point of buying some more,” Thranduil complimented Bard’s favourite beer. But Bard was barely listening. His heart was thudding in his ears and his pulse was racing. He didn’t know what possessed him, though later he would blame the wine, but in a moment he was standing before Thranduil, his eyes dark and full of want.

He kissed him, as he had been wanting to all day, and he could taste the remaining notes of ale on Thranduil’s lips. Bard delved his free hand into Thranduil’s soft hair and rubbed at his scalp as he claimed his mouth. Their lips slid together smoothly, and their tongues met tentatively in a swirl of lingering wine and fading ale. Thranduil traced his hand up Bard’s scruffy jumper and he tugged on the collar of his shirt, bring their bodies closer together as they kissed. It was sweet, yet hints of Bard’s longing and Thranduil’s desperation punctuated their movements.

Bard found himself spun around and pressed against the kitchen island before he could make another move, and Thranduil was immediately pressed up against him, his hands free of ale and able to lift Bard’s jumper and slide underneath to caress his taut stomach. Bard flinched, and then moaned, and then tugged at the loops on Thranduil’s jeans. He pulled him closer and brought their hips together.

The timer trilled harshly, bringing the two men out of the self-induced haze of their bubble. Thranduil extracted their lips from each other whispering, “I need to turn the steaks-” only to be interrupted by Bard’s wicked mouth stealing another kiss.

Bard grinned and let Thranduil go. He took a long, steadying draught of his wine as he watched the tall blonde flip their steaks and reset the timer. Thranduil turned back to him with a reddened nose and ruffled hair.

“I wanted to do that all day,” Bard explained, his eyes shifting to the ground in embarrassment.

Thranduil’s tongue licked out at his top lip, tasting traces of merlot and Bard, “I’m glad you did.”

Bard caught Thranduil’s eyes, and they both smiled coyly at one another. There was only one way that the night was headed, and Bard thanked the gods that he had booked the babysitter for the entire night.

After that, the evening consisted of lengthy, ravenous looks thrown across Thranduil’s dining table while they ate, and more than one bottle of wine being cracked open. Bard was surprised how easy it was to talk to Thranduil. Though their attraction was obvious and undeniable, Bard had not ever had a lengthy conversation with the beautiful blonde.

Thranduil was interested in wine and art, and theatre and music, and he talked enthusiastically about them as the night continued. He inquired about Bard’s passions, and listened intently when Bard explained his love for old cars, racing and his children. Work was not mentioned; work was unimportant and irrelevant to the two men. It was odd for Bard to have an entire night of adult conversation. He was usually grousing at Sigrid to get some sleep, unplugging Bain’s Xbox, and carrying an exhausted Tilda to bed. He was, more often that not, doing laundry, tidying the apartment and packing lunches, all at once. It was a lovely change to only be concerned with the man in front of him, to focus his whole attention on their conversation and thoughts of where the night was heading. Bard had quite forgotten how incredible a good date could be, and he lost himself in Thranduil’s world for the night.

Their plates long forgotten and nearly clean, the two spent hours talking and getting to know one another. But then Thranduil stood, rather abruptly, and Bard started, wondering if the night had come to an end already. But Thranduil merely offered Bard his hand and led him to the large glass doors that encircled the house. Thranduil’s mansion bordered a lush green park, and his back yard consisted of a deck, hot tub and a perfect view of the stars.

Though it was nippy, and the sky was shielded in parts by patches of the notorious London clouds, there were a few places where the twinkling of close stars could be seen. It was a wonder to see such a sight in the city, and Bard stared up intently. Thranduil still clasped his hand, and their shoulders rested along side one another as they stood, taking in the chilly night air and the stars. It cleared the haze of wine and food somewhat, and made both their eyes sparkle in anticipation.

“I would suggest the hot tub,” Thranduil whispered, turning slightly to look down at Bard, “But I don’t think I can resist any longer.”

Bard turned, and was met by desperate lips. Thranduil held nothing back, and his teeth were nipping at Bard in an instant. His hands were buried in Bard’s tousled hair before he could catch his breath, and he felt the chilly air caress his skin as Thranduil slipped his hands around his back and brushed his jumper upwards.

“Can you stay?” Thranduil sighed, peppering Bard’s lips with kisses as he spoke, “Can you stay the night?”

Bard smiled through the kisses, and wound his arms around the blonde’s slim waist as he rasped, “I can stay all night.” And probably all morning.

“Thank the gods,” Thranduil almost whimpered, and he dug his fingers into the front of Bard’s jumper. He tugged, dragging Bard with him as he backtracked into the house. Bard was not used to being manhandled in such a way; he had forgotten how much he enjoyed it. As soon as the door had clicked shut behind them, Thranduil was against him, his fingers working their way under Bard’s clothes and yanking away at them. Bard gave as good as he got, though was a little more restrained while trying to rid Thranduil of his jumper – it looked as though it was worth more than his apartment.

Both men were shirtless within seconds, their clothes lying discarded about the house as they steadily made their way towards Thranduil’s bedroom. Bard remembered the way, and Thranduil followed him, rubbing his hands over Bard’s strong chest and broad shoulders while still trying to keep their lips together. Bard gulped, his eyes hungrily taking in the hard lines and defined muscles of Thranduil’s torso. He thought he might never get the chance to see that glorious body ever again, and he made the most of the opportunity to touch and kiss and graze his teeth over every available patch of skin.

Stopping to make out against walls made their journey to the bedroom last much longer than necessary, and by the time they reached the bed, Thranduil’s jeans were hanging off of his hips and Bard’s hair had been knocked out of the tight bun he had scarped it back into.

Thranduil sat down on the edge of his massive bed, his hands fumbling with the button on Bard’s trousers and a look of quiet intensity striking across his face. Bard would have laughed at the extreme concentration had he not been aching for Thranduil’s touch. After much tugging, Thranduil eventually exposed the tight black underwear that Bard wore under his pants. He sighed and lurched forwards, pressing a kiss to Bard’s stomach, just above the waistband, and nuzzled his nose into the soft tuft of hair that trailed down beneath the underwear.

Bard’s hips stuttered and his mouth fell open when Thranduil dug the tips of his long fingers into the firm muscles of his ass and placed a tender kiss to the arousal that was straining out of his pants. _Gods_ , Thranduil certainly knew how to turn him on.

“Bard,” Thranduil said suddenly, and Bard looked down to see him staring up, a cheek pressed against his cock and his eyes filled with hunger. Bard reached down, winding his fingers through Thranduil’s silky hair. “Will you fuck me?”

Bard’s cock twitched. There was not a hint of slur to Thranduil’s voice, and his eyes were clear and beautiful. Bard wanted it; gods did he want it, and now he was free to have it. But there was one caveat to his plans.

“No,” He whispered, and Thranduil’s eyebrows furrowed together, “I want to make love to you.” He knew that it sounded contrived and sappy, but it was what he wanted. He could not merely fuck the man who had stolen his heart.

Before Thranduil could snigger at his lameness, or retort with some acerbic comment, Bard had climbed on top of him, bringing their lips together as he straddled Thranduil’s slim hips. Thranduil let him worship his lips for a few moments, before he twisted and rolled them, Bard now lying flat on his back in the middle of Thranduil’s crisp white sheets. Thranduil worked on removing both Bard’s trousers and underwear in one go, ripping them off and throwing them over the side of the bed. Bard’s cock bobbed up and rested against his stomach, hard a red and twitching under Thranduil’s gaze. He felt a moment’s hesitation, a moment of clawing exposure, but the look in Thranduil’s eyes soothed any worry he may have had.

“You’re beautiful,” Thranduil breathed, his blue eyes wide and his fingers tickling the tops of Bard’s thighs. Bard blushed; he flushed from head to toe, and sat up, pushing Thranduil’s jeans and underwear down past his ass. He gulped when Thranduil stood to kick off the last of his clothes.

The man was stunning. He was an alabaster beauty, every muscle perfectly modelled and rendered in a creamy whiteness. He seemed hairless, though when he turned into the faded light, Bard saw the shimmer of white-blonde hair covering his arms and legs. Bard’s eyes were drawn to the pink arousal that bobbed between his legs. His cock was as beautiful as the rest of him. Thranduil climbed back on the bed, his skin almost matching the sheets, and Bard nearly lost his nerve. Thranduil was an ethereal god from another world, why would he want such a mortal as he?

Thranduil fell into his arms as he reached him, pressing his toned body against Bard’s and grinding their cocks together. Bard had to grit his teeth and try and distract himself so as not to come straight away. It had been many years since he had felt such complete arousal, and Thranduil was much too enticing for his bewildered mind and his trembling body. And then Thranduil was coaxing Bard’s hands over his ass, between his cheeks to rub at his delicate entrance. His finger met some resistance at first, but soon Thranduil was gasping as he stretched him.

Bard did not know how he managed to control himself, but when Thranduil stretched over to fumble in his bedside table and extract a condom and a small bottle of lube, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to try and centre himself.

_Gods. Stars. Gods._ Thranduil was infinitely tender when he rolled the condom over Bard’s length, pressing tiny kisses against his hipbone as he did so. Before Bard could protest, before he could take a moment and gather what was left of his self-control, Thranduil was beneath him, his hand wrapped around Bard’s cock and angling him towards his slicked entrance.

_Gods_. Bard would not last long, not with that first press of heat against his cock and Thranduil writhing underneath him, and gods… he was murmuring Bard’s name and digging his perfect nails into his back. He didn’t seem to mind that Bard was rusty, that his hips did not keep a perfect rhythm and stuttered and shuddered against him. He did not seem to mind when Bard buried his head into his long neck and whimpered that he was close.

Bard slid his hand between their sweaty bodies to grip at Thranduil’s cock. He tried to bring him as much pleasure as he was experiencing, and he angled his hips to stroke into the beautiful body below him.

Thranduil threw back his head and gasped, and Bard felt hot release splatter over his hand, and gods… he came then, buried deep inside Thranduil’s body. He was grateful that Thranduil had found his pleasure; he did not think he could have lasted much longer. He kept his hand moving over Thranduil as he whimpered and wrapped his arms around Bard’s shoulders, his body going slack and heavy in sated relief.

Bard did not collapse on top of Thranduil, as he was very close to doing. He pushed himself to the side, his cheek resting on Thranduil’s strong shoulder and his head supported by a feather pillow. His heart was beating right out of his chest, his skin was sweaty and on fire, his cock was sated yet twitching in pleasure, and his eyes were hazy with happiness.

Turning his head, Thranduil sighed and pressed a sloppy kiss to Bard’s forehead. Bard closed his eyes and nuzzled into Thranduil’s shoulder, his pulse slowing.

“Gods,” Bard breathed, and Thranduil chuckled his agreement, his decadent laugh rippling through both of their bodies. They both stayed that way for some time, their bodies cooling and their sweat evaporating into the heated air of Thranduil’s bedroom.

After many lovely minutes of gentle caresses, interspersed with tender kissing and breathy sighs, Thranduil pushed up onto his elbow to look down at his flushed chauffeur.

“I have a very serious question to ask you, Bard,” he said, and Bard’s heart jumped. His eyes went wide, and he looked up at the ruffled beauty.

“Yes?” He said nervously, his mind already racing with possibly scenarios, none of them good.

“How do you feel about ice cream?”

Bard blinked, and then answered truthfully, “I am very agreeable to ice cream, especially after a work out.”

Thranduil grinned wide. “Good answer,” he said, and extracted himself from Bard’s arms, much to his disappointment. And then he strutted off, completely naked, to procure them both some dessert after their dessert.

Bard watched him go with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes distracted by the way his tight ass moved as he walked.

_Gods_. Thranduil was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thanks for reading! Much appreciated!**
> 
> I have a digital art blog, where I create logos, banners, cover art and illustrations for blogs, websites and fan fiction. If you are interested, my information and prices can be found here: [plotbunniesincolour info](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/commissioninfo). 
> 
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**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading! Much appreciated!**
> 
> Yes, from now on there will be watermarks over all of my work. I have had multiple instances of art theft without ANY credit, so I now have to make sure credit is given. I am sorry for this, and I will try to make the water mark as unobtrusive as possible while still making it effective. 
> 
> I also have a new signature. Woo! :)
> 
> Let me know if you have any ideas for sequels! <3
> 
> **More fan artwork can be found at[plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)! Come and say hello, I don't bite <3**


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